Chapter 18
Cassian
Ichanged the reservation three times before settling on the Italian place in Millbrook.
Too formal felt like I was trying too hard.
Too casual suggested I wasn’t taking this seriously.
The compromise was a family-owned restaurant with excellent food, reasonable atmosphere, and enough distance from Hollow Haven that we could have an actual conversation without the entire town watching.
Tuesday evening, five days after the coffee shop meeting. Long enough that we’d all had time to process what we’d agreed to, not so long that momentum could stall. Strategic timing, I told myself. Not nervous planning.
I arrived at Talia’s cottage at six forty-five, exactly fifteen minutes early as planned.
It gave me time to settle my nerves before she came out.
I’d dressed carefully, dark jeans and a charcoal button-down that my former personal shopper had insisted brought out my eyes.
Then I’d felt ridiculous caring about that and almost changed. Kept the shirt anyway.
The door opened at six fifty-eight and I forgot why I’d been anxious about anything.
She wore a deep green dress that hit just above her knees, her auburn curls loose around her shoulders. Simple gold earrings caught the porch light. Not fancy, but intentional. Like she’d thought about this too.
“Hi,” she said, and I caught nervous energy underneath the greeting.
“Hi yourself.” I opened the passenger door of the Explorer. “You look beautiful.”
“You clean up pretty well too.” She climbed in, and I caught vanilla and honey mixed with something warmer. Her scent always did things to my ability to think clearly.
The drive to Millbrook took twenty-five minutes.
We talked about easy things at first. The bistro’s remediation was ahead of schedule.
My consulting work with a new client in Denver.
Jace had texted the group chat about finding a massive chanterelle patch.
Hollis had sent book recommendations for all three of us based on our conversation Sunday.
“He really does that?” I asked. “Curates reading lists for people?”
“It’s his love language,” Talia said. “Acts of service through literary analysis.”
“That’s very him.” I navigated the turn toward downtown Millbrook. “I’ve been reading the Thoreau essays he recommended. They’re better than I expected.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I associate Thoreau with pretentious college kids trying to sound deep. But Hollis pointed out specific passages about choosing principle over comfort, and they resonated.”
She was quiet for a moment, then said, “You three really are starting to be friends, aren’t you?”
“I think so. Jace invited me on a patrol hike next week. Hollis and I have been texting about architecture. It’s unfamiliar but not unpleasant.”
“Unfamiliar?”
“I don’t have friends, generally. Professional contacts, strategic relationships, people I tolerate for mutual benefit. But actual friends who want to spend time together because they enjoy each other’s company?” I pulled into the restaurant parking lot. “That’s new territory.”
“How does it feel?”
“Terrifying. Good. Both simultaneously.”
I came around to open her door, and she accepted my hand getting out. The contact sent warmth up my arm that I was learning to associate with her. Want mixed with comfort, possession tangled with care.
The restaurant was exactly what I’d hoped. Warm lighting, exposed brick, small tables that allowed intimate conversation without feeling isolated. The hostess led us to a corner booth I’d specifically requested, private enough for honest discussion.
“This is lovely,” Talia said, sliding into the booth. “How did you find it?”
“Research. I called four restaurants, read reviews, checked menus to make sure they had options you’d actually want to eat.” I settled across from her. “Then I made reservations at all four and canceled three this afternoon after deciding this one had the best probability of success.”
She laughed, genuine and warm. “You made four reservations?”
“I told you I make lists for everything. Dating strategy is no different.”
“That’s simultaneously very sweet and slightly concerning.”
“Welcome to how my brain works. Everything’s a problem to be analyzed and optimized.”
The waiter appeared with water and menus. I’d already reviewed the menu online, had identified three dishes Talia would probably enjoy based on her comments about food over the past month. But I kept that analysis to myself. Some things didn’t need to be shared.
“The osso buco is supposed to be excellent,” I said instead. “And their pasta is all made in-house.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“No. But I did extensive research.”
“Of course you did.” Her lips quirked in amusement as she studied the menu, and I found myself watching the way she considered options. The slight furrow between her eyebrows when she concentrated. The way she bit her lower lip making decisions.
I wanted to kiss that lip. Had wanted to for weeks now. Tonight felt like maybe I finally could.
“So,” she said after we’d ordered. “This is our first real date. Just the two of us, deliberately romantic instead of accidentally intimate while working on permits.”
“Does that make you nervous?”
“Terrified. You?”
“Absolutely.” I took a sip of water to buy time. “I’ve been planning this evening for five days. Running probability scenarios, preparing conversation topics, analyzing potential outcomes.”
“And what did your analysis conclude?”
“That I have no idea what I’m doing and should probably just be honest instead of strategic.”
Her expression softened. “I like honest Cassian better than strategic Cassian anyway.”
“Even though strategic Cassian is better at making reservations?”
“Especially then.” She reached across the table and took my hand. The contact sent electricity through me that had nothing to do with analysis or planning. “Tell me something honest. Something you haven’t told anyone else.”
I looked at our joined hands, at the way her smaller fingers fit between mine. At the vulnerability she was asking for with such simple directness.
“I’m terrified I’m going to mess this up,” I said quietly.
“Not just with you, but with all of this. Jace and Hollis seem to understand instinctively how relationships work, how to navigate emotional complexity without making everything a strategic problem. And I’m sitting here having made four restaurant reservations because I can’t trust my own judgment about where to take someone on a date. ”
“Cassian.”
“I’ve never had a serious relationship. A few short-term things in college, some transactional arrangements that my father set up with appropriate families.
But nothing real. Nothing where the other person’s happiness mattered more than maintaining useful connections.
” I met her eyes. “And now I’m trying to be part of a pack formation with two alphas who are fundamentally better at being human than I am, and I have no idea how to compete with that. ”
“You’re not competing with them.”
“Aren’t I?”
“No.” She squeezed my hand. “You’re offering something completely different than what they offer. And that’s the point. Jace makes me feel adventurous and grounded. Hollis makes me feel safe and understood. You make me feel capable and valued for my competence. I need all three of those things.”
“What if capable and valued isn’t enough?”
“What if it’s exactly what I need most?” She leaned forward.
“Cassian, you saved an entire town at enormous personal cost. You gave up your family, your inheritance, everything you were raised to value because it was the right thing to do. That’s not someone who’s bad at being human.
That’s someone who chose humanity over everything else. ”
The words hit harder than they should have. Maybe because I’d spent three months telling myself the opposite. That sacrificing my family made me a traitor. That choosing principle over profit proved I didn’t understand how the world actually worked.
“My father would disagree.”
“Your father built his identity on exploitation and environmental destruction. His disagreement is a compliment.”
I had to smile at that. “You’re very fierce when you’re defending people.”
“Only people worth defending.” She didn’t let go of my hand. “And you’re worth defending, even from yourself.”
The food arrived, giving me time to process that. The osso buco she’d ordered looked perfect, rich and falling off the bone. My pasta was exactly as described. We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes.
“Can I ask you something?” Talia said eventually.
“Anything.”
“What do you actually want from this? From us, I mean. Not what you think you should want or what makes strategic sense. What do you want?”
I set down my fork, giving the question the consideration it deserved. What did I want? Beyond the obvious attraction, beyond the practical benefits of pack formation, what was I actually pursuing here?
“I want to matter to someone,” I said finally.
“Not for what I can provide or what connections I bring or how useful I am. Just for being myself, whoever that turns out to be when I’m not performing roles my family assigned.
” I paused. “And I want to build something that’s mine.
Not inherited or expected or measured against my father’s accomplishments.
Something I chose because it felt right instead of because it was strategically optimal. ”
“And you think pack formation with me, Jace, and Hollis could be that?”
“I think you three could be that. If I don’t ruin it by overthinking everything.”